Impenetrable

I am in my little corner, with my head between my knees. I am in a small dark place. I am behind a thick wall made of steel and brick and glass. I am in a little bubble, my own private oasis. I am safe from pain and fear and suffering. I am safe from the extremity of human emotions. I am safe. My wall is impenetrable.

I hide here for I don't know how long, protecting my mind and emotions, my psyche. I stay hidden from view, only occasionally allowing people a glimpse in through the glass. I do not allow them to follow up on that glimpse; instead, I draw the shades and retreat further back into myself. Only by being hidden can I stay safe.

Now I see someone on the other side of the glass, waving. I shudder and try to draw the blinds; you are looking too close. But the blinds jam and will not close. I get scared, and try to draw further back, but I feel my back against a brick wall. “You have trapped yourself by building these walls,” you say. I try to retreat, but there is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from those eyes.

You step closer. I wait for the wall to stop you. It is strong; I know it, I built it myself. But yet it does not hinder you. You step right through it like it isn't there. The wall doesn't shatter, doesn't break, doesn't crumble. It just doesn't exist.

Now you are beside me. You are reaching for me. You pull me up out of my huddle. You force me to stand on my feet. You hold me.

The tears flow freely. I can not help myself. You tell me you love me. You tell me I must learn to live. And I believe you.

You take my hand and lead me out into the sunshine. I smile as the sun hits my face.